Interview with Stephen Graham Jones

The following is an interview with Stephen Graham Jones, author of All the Beautiful Sinners (Rugged Land, 2003), The Bird is Gone:  A Manifesto (FC2, 2003), The Fast Red Road – A Plainsong (FC2, 2000), Bleed Into Me:  A Book of Stories (University of Nebraska Press, 2005), and Demon Theory (MacAdam Cage, 2006).  He’s also published many short stories online, and is currently an Associate Professor of English at Texas Tech University.

Dan Wickett:

Hello, Stephen.  Thank you very much for taking some time out of your writing and teaching schedule to answer some questions.

Stephen Graham Jones:

Man, there’s also my Heroes and 24 and Lost schedule. But the day’s full of hours, near as I can tell.

Dan Wickett:

Out of curiosity, had your heard of the Litblog Co-op prior to your being nominated for this quarter?

Stephen Graham Jones:

Yeah, through Scott’s Slushpile.net, I’d guess. Cool place—I mean, well, both, Slushpile and the Co-op. Really, I think I have a lot of Co-op hats hanging on various deer around the house. Growing up, we’d always pull the Co-op patches off once the hat was trash and use it on our jeans. Cheaper than a Metallica patch, and they look sharp too.

Dan Wickett:

You have a blog of your own at www.stephengrahamjones.com.  Do you find this helps you as a writer at all?  Or is it just a convenient place for fans of your work to keep up one what you’re doing, what you’re reading, watching, etc.?

Stephen Graham Jones:

I wouldn’t say it helps me, and yeah, I can definitely see the dangers of blogging, but, too, I mean, I’ve never been afraid of running out of writing juice, either. I’ve always got some left for fiction. But no, wait, I’m lying. Sure, I can blog and keep up with just an avalanche of email and student work, all that, and still write novels. What I’ve found I can’t hardly do, though, is program and write fiction. Like, web-programming, writing code, a hole I nearly fell all the way into a few years back, when PHP was still young and stealing all the Perl die-hards. For me, writing code, it’s just so, so fun, because there’s always the chance of elegance, if you stick with a line long enough. Problem is, the brain muscles I use to program are the same muscles I use for fiction. And there’s not enough brainpower for both. So I try as hard as I can to stay away from the code anymore. Sometimes it involves lashing myself to the mast, but oh well.

Dan Wickett:

Speaking of what you’re reading – the list goes on and on at your blog.  Fantastic recommendations, wandering all over the literary map in terms of what sections one might find them in a Borders or Barnes and Noble.  How important do you believe reading is for young (and even not so young) writers?  What do you tell your students?

Stephen Graham Jones:

It’s just the garbage in/garbage out trick. If you’re not taking any fiction in, good or bad, then how can you be spitting any back out (good or bad)? I can’t even imagine trying to write without reading. Really, I can hardly write a novel at all if I’m not reading just book after book. Though I have to be very careful to stay away from Vonnegut or Philip K. Dick, as they both shut me down, make me want to go back to manual labor. Or, a non-writing kind of manual labor anyway. Because writing, of course, it’s not all in your head. Not talking about the ‘manual’ act of typing here either, but that, when your fiction’s really working, your whole body’s involved, and then some. Sounds stupid when I say it like that, probably, but you—I—get all jittery, and messed-up. This one novel I wrote, I mean, Hair of the Dog—like the Nazareth album, yeah—it was pretty intense, involved doing bad things and worse things, and, the whole six weeks I was writing it, I was sick the whole time. But I love the product.

Dan Wickett:

As for students, you are an Associate Professor in English at Texas Tech University.  I’ve read you said even if you had the sales of a DaVinci Code, you believe you’d continue teaching.  What do you get out of it, or enjoy, to the level that if you didn’t need it for income purposes, you’d still want to have it be a part of your life?

Stephen Graham Jones:

It’s just so great being in the classroom with people who are there to talk about writing, and reading. I mean, I tried not teaching for a while, after grad school—a lot of people ‘try’ that, I know—and found that I missed it so much, being in a room with people afflicted with the same freakishness, the same romantic bent or whatever, the same willingness to put this world on hold, traffic in another. Too, I have a tendency to spin off into my head if left alone too long. So, I mean, students, talking to them once or twice a week, having to articulate the craziness, make it make sense for sentences at a time, it helps.

Dan Wickett:

I’ve only had the pleasure of reading Demon Theory and then Bleed Into Me, but from descriptions of your other works, it appears that Demon Theory is the first of your published writing to not have a heavy influx of Native American characters.  To hit you with multiple questions at once – As a Native American, have you felt any pressure to write of Native Americans, or did you perhaps feel more comfortable writing from that viewpoint earlier in your career?  And do you feel some importance in making sure that there is writing out there about Native Americans that doesn’t resort to falling into what could be seen as standard stereotypes?

Stephen Graham Jones:

Working on my M.A., I remember this one story I wrote and wrote and wrote, mostly called “Navasota Moon.” I don’t remember if it ever got published anywhere, but doubt it. Anyway, working through the drafts of it, a thing hit me—I realized that this guy, this protagonist, first, he was the same protagonist I’d been using for every other one of my stories, which I think we all do, like it or not, but, more important, he was part Indian. And the reason he was was because that was the only kind or type or whatever of person I really knew how to identify with, the only eyeholes I had to look from. Make sense? I think it’s the same as, if you’re a guy, most of your characters, at least early on, are going to be male (too, though, I’ve found that even female writers just starting out default to male characters a lot of the time, which just wholly confuses me). As for pressure to write Indian stuff, yeah, there’s some of that, but it’s not like there’s a body of people out there staring at me trying to keep me in-line, and not like I imagine they’re there either. It’s more like . . .  don’t want to say responsibility, because I don’t at all think that word has anything to do with art. But still, being Indian, you (I), do kind of feel compelled to write against a lot of the stuff that’s out there. To, say, tell an Indian story without feathers and loincloths. To show the reader that Indians are people too, not just illustrations come to life. But no, as to whether it was more comfortable to write Indian stuff when I was younger as opposed to now—Demon Theory was the second novel I ever wrote, just right on the heels of Fast Red Road. And what I was just very consciously doing with Demon Theory was telling a story as opposite from Fast Red Road as I could. Initially, I didn’t want the term “Indian” in it anywhere, though I finally had to put it in, to reference Poltergeist or something. I just wanted to see if I was using the Indian stuff as a crutch, I mean. Or, more pressing, if I was only getting published because I was Indian-writing-Indian, or whether I had the storytelling ability to just wing it all alone, to make it all up. Since Demon Theory, though, since I wrote it, I mean—talking 1999 here—yeah, I guess three of my books have been Indian in subject matter. The same way, I guess, you write Earthling books if you’re, say, from Earth, Martian books if you’re from Mars. It’s just what I know. Even that book I was talking about that made me six-weeks-sick, it’s horror, sure, but the main guy’s Indian too. Pretty much the same character from that “Navasota Moon” story, really. Now that I think about it. Which I never have. Wow.

Dan Wickett:

Bleed Into Me is a short story collection.  The stories are of Native Americans living in the 21st century and it’s all but impossible not to notice the symbol, right there in the title even, of blood.  It’s in many of the stories – physical blood, the idea of blood being passed from father to son, etc.  Did you write these stories with a collection in mind, or were they written over time, along with your other stories, and collected together afterwards?

Stephen Graham Jones:

Yeah, they were collected afterwards. Written over, I don’t know, twelve years? That “Carbon” one anyway, it’s from 95, I think. “Last Success” is 96 or so. “Venison” is that same year. If I had to pick a favorite, though, it’d be “To Run Without Falling,” easy. About ninety-nine percent autobiographical, that one. Some stories hardly feel like lying at all.

Dan Wickett:

You have published a large amount of short fiction, both in print journals and with online journals as well.  When you complete a story, do you send it out to targeted journals based on the writing and story itself?  Do you hold any preference to getting it published in print or online?   If you could see your story in one journal, or magazine, what would it be?

Stephen Graham Jones:

Man, one journal. Used to it was The New Yorker, I suppose. And I’d still like that check, for sure. Right now, though, I think I’m most into the brand of fiction Tin House has been pushing. I mean, Zoetrope and One Story and McSweeney’s, anyway, they’re running quality stuff as well, but the Tin House stories have a bit more edge, for whatever reason. Oh, wait, but all of this doesn’t matter: the mag I most want to be published in, now that I’ve been in Cemetery Dance, that’s easy: Weird Tales. The birthplace of Conan. If I could go back in time, though, then it’d be OMNI. Though too Asimov’s has been running some pretty clean stuff for awhile now, and Fantasy & Science Fiction’s always fun. Nothing against Analog, for sure, and that newish Apex Digest is pretty hot. But you didn’t ask for a grocery list, yeah. Sorry. As for print vs on-line, no, no real preference. Neither’s more valid than the other, I don’t think. As for the advantages of each: on-line stuff doesn’t die when the next issue comes out, and print stuff gets picked more for the anthologies. As for targeting certain mags, I really should, yeah. Trick is, I just write so much that I’ll go months and months just making stories, and forget all about sending them out. Lots of the stuff I publish, I mean, it’s because somebody calls me, asks if I have something they could use? And of course I just always do.

Dan Wickett:

You’ve had your work published by various publishers, including FC2, University of Nebraska Press and MacAdam/Cage.  What differences did you find between publishers in terms of the process of editing, and in terms of publicity and getting the work out there to the readers?

Stephen Graham Jones:

To group them, I’d say FC2 and Nebraska are pretty similar—indie/university presses, so I can be fairly involved in all the editorial decisions, and no, there’s not just a blank check for marketing, though there is a lot of hands-on caring-about-your book stuff, which really and seriously matters, leaves you feeling a lot less lonely. Then there’s MacAdam/Cage and Rugged Land, both kind of maverick publishers but biggish too, with money, though the Cage is becoming more of a mainstay type place, I’d suspect—they’ve had some hits, I mean, are making the right kinds of noise, but are still crazy enough to run stuff like Demon Theory, or that cool-looking Corrections to My Memoirs. Meaning they seem to be at a place where there’s not some COBRA syndicate breathing down their necks, affecting editorial policy, telling them ‘Blockbuster or else, guys.’ But I distract myself here. Yeah, for publicity, for marketing, it’s nice to have a bigger budget, to be working with a bigger publisher. Like with Rugged Land, for ATBS they ran some NYT ads and were pretty free with checks everywhere else, which, coming from an indie background, I thought was kind of like the promised land.

Dan Wickett:

While many authors are not interested in anything but the writing, you seem to relish, to a higher degree at least, the publicity aspect of publishing a book – which, in this day and age is probably a good thing for you.  You’ve created a YouTube promo for Demon Theory (http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=7aVhs-0b5vE), and set yourself up with a MySpace page, among other things.  Is it the aspect of getting to be creative that you enjoy, or is it more that you realize you’ve got to do everything you can to get your books noticed?

Stephen Graham Jones:

Well, cheap answer, but a bit from both pots, I suppose, though it started just with getting my stuff noticed, of course. But then it became really cool just to interact with people, both those who were reading and who weren’t reading my stuff. Just smart people. And too, I’d be lying if I didn’t say it’s fun, that net-thing of culturing a persona, all that. The same way as at a party or wherever you push a certain version of yourself, and don’t tell them about how you still keep all your special rocks in that old Hello Kitty bag. That’s kind of how all this on-line stuff is for me. I’ve got Hello Kitty bags just stacked up all around me here at the keyboard, but don’t ever have to say anything about them. Because I don’t want people stealing my special rocks.

Dan Wickett:

Demon Theory.  Quite a few footnotes in this novel.  I like Vincent Liaguno’s comment (http://unspeakablehorror.com/vince-liaguno/2007/1/21/book-review-demon-theory.html) that they were similar to Pop-Up Videos (from the VH-1 show).  I read each one at the time you referenced it – as if I was being told a story by one prone to rambled wanderings in the conversation or story.  Was this your intention with the footnotes?  For those who became frustrated with them, and the constant need to shuffle their eyes to the bottom of the page – do you believe the text itself, sans footnotes, was a sustainable story and one strong enough to be published without the rest?  Or does that idea not even make sense to you as the footnotes are truly part of the story?

Stephen Graham Jones:

No, it makes sense for sure. I mean, the way I’d always read through Demon Theory was to print it up without the footnotes. Because if that top story doesn’t work independent of the notes, then the book’s a flop. And, too—I think Mike Bracken said this in his review (http://www.toxicuniverse.com/review.php?rid=10006327) — but it was also very important for me that the notes never perturb the top story. That they exist independent of it, but in a way that also deepens it, or riffs off it, whatever. But they could have no bearing on what was happening in the big font. That’d be a dangerous path to try to walk. A tightrope, really. And, talking when or even if to read them, somebody over at the Velvet said that he didn’t even read the footnotes really, just because he didn’t need to—he also grew up with those movies. Which is just supercool, I think, to ignore them like that, to have already internalized them, for them to be unnecessary. I six-hundred percent agree with that reading, maybe even endorse it, and would hope everybody knows the slasher etc. that well, that they can just cruise through the top story. But to get back to the question, yeah, for sure, Pop-Up Video. I even have a story I always call my Pop-Up Video story, that “Screentime” one in the Burroway textbook. Because I was a Pop-Up Video hound, I mean. I wish there were some closed-caption type button I could push on my tv to make everything I watch Pop-Up, really. It just makes perfect sense to me. But, too, I can’t really watch TV, or a DVD, without the subtitles or closed captions on. Because I like to read while I watch. Makes it a whole lot more interactive. I feel less like just a viewer, feel more engaged. But, as for my intention with the footnotes, somebody—oh, Demon Theory’s editor, Jason Wood—he said that they worked for him like a love letter to his childhood. Which is perfectly right, I think. That’s how they are for me as well. But that’s not intent. Intent. Okay, my intent: I wanted to peel back the curtain, show how nothing’s new, that there’s only new arrangements, really. But I wanted, insisted, on doing it in exuberant fashion. Which is to say I wouldn’t or won’t allow any cynicism into it—I’m not meaning to say that it’s all been done, all that’s left is to cannibalize the past, all that, which is a cop-out. I’m meaning—well, it’s in the afterword, I suppose, with Barth and the “Literature of Exhaustion” or whatever. How it’s not at all dirge-like, but exciting, a zero-point energy thing, enough juice in the vacuum of a light bulb to fry all our brains, that kind of stuff. And do I spell ‘vacuum’ wrong there? I’m talking emptiness, or, a fullness that’s equivalent to emptiness. Not Hoovers.

Dan Wickett:

The footnotes wander all over the pop culture map (even including a reference to the television show Manimal (!)), but are mostly geared to the genre of horror films, with 80’s hair metal bands probably ranking number two in terms of number of footnotes.  Did you have to do much research in these areas, or were you already aware of most of the details when you decided to add the footnote?  It also brings up a question we touched on in the LBC roundtable discussion of the book.  It is, after all, a novel.  Fiction that is.  Do you believe the footnotes even had to be true?  That if one looked up the information, that they would have to be able to find it and verify that your footnote was telling the truth?

Stephen Graham Jones:

Yeah, a fair number of the footnotes are just lies. But it’s fiction. It’s fake scholarship. Which isn’t to say I could tag the wrong year onto any of the movies, either. Just because that’d look like a mistake. But yeah, almost everything in there, if I didn’t know it particularly already, I knew of it, anyway, then just had to dig up the specifics wherever. Friends, internet, books, radio, DVDs, etc. And everybody always loves that Manimal’s in there. Cracks me up. I mean, don’t get me wrong, I loved Manimal, and consider it more of a documentary than anything made-up, I just never knew there was this groundswell of hidden Manimal fans out there. Me, I’d like to see Manimal and Automan in a cage match. But, as for the hair metal stuff, yeah, I had to really draw back on a lot of that. Because, for me, it just permeates all of existence, infuses it with meaning and informs its structure, is probably even in the bible somewhere if you (I) look close enough. Any bible that matters, anyway. “The Gospel of Jon, Brett, Vince, and Axl,” yeah. I’d read it. Maybe even write it.

Dan Wickett:

You’re obviously a big music fan – and I admire the fact that you have that list on your site of songs from youth that you can’t state you’re embarrassed to like, including Barry Manilow’s I Write the Songs.  But, do you write with music on?  Is it typically the 80’s hair metal bands, or does it depend on what you’re working on?

Stephen Graham Jones:

Yeah, it’s just impossible – ridiculous, really – for me to try to write without the music just blowing my hair straight back like those old commercials.  So that I’m like just using my Spidey powers to hang onto the keyboard, still try to tap out a story.  Anything less than that dial cranked to 11, too, and bad stuff starts happening to my fiction.  Particularly, my brain gets undistracted enough to start actually thinking about what I’m doing here, storywise.  And as far as I’m concerned, any fiction which operates from mindpower instead of just from basic narrative instinct, that fiction’s just a game, is just craft, will probably have very little heart.  I mean, there’s an eventual place for thinking, sure, but that’s when you come back to the piece, have to trace out the causal logic, the plot, and make sure everything’s locking together nice enough or in some kind of recognizable manner.  But thinking, man, planning, all that, it’s just a half-step and a bad idea away from second-guessing yourself.  Which isn’t at all what writing can be, when it’s really being writing.  As for what I listen to particularly, while writing anyway, it’s stuff that plays well loud.  So, yeah, right now it’s hair metal, but that’s just chance, just what I needed to make the thing I’m writing right now maybe work.  Usually I don’t allow myself any of that while writing, though.  All scattered around my desk and under my desk and balanced in unlikely and unlikelier places are old scratched CDs from other novels I’ve written.  Because that’s always the way I do it – only one CD or playlist per novel.  I won’t listen to anything else while writing that novel, and will change music just to check email or something, and won’t even listen to that CD in the truck or while playing ball or anywhere, just because those songs, that set of songs, they’re only for that novel, are the kind of magic that can’t be wasted on nothing-stuff, which when you’re writing, is everything else.  If that makes anything even remotely like sense.  As for being a music fan, though, I doubt if I qualify.  Unless just listening to the same old stuff all the time can count.  I mean, it’s wide ranging, yeah, from the nasally old country to Rob Zombie and stopping in the middle for Terrance Trent D’Arby and Shalimar, but the music scene just got so fractured, it seems, that unless you’re a critic or something then I don’t know how you can possibly listen to it all.  I mean, give me the Footloose soundtrack and a couple of Bob Seger albums and I’m pretty good to go.  Maybe some Whitesnake, I suppose.  As for what songs I used to write what stuff, I don’t remember so well anymore.  I do remember that “Total Eclipse of the Heart” started off the ATBS CD, and that the Seven Spanish Angels one had two Kid rock songs, and that Hair of the Dog had some Danzig and Rob Zombie, and, I think, Kid Rock (he’s all-purpose).  Fast Red Road, though, man, I remember having a jambox there by my computer, but can’t remember what I played.  Nothing burned, anyway, so it was probably the Skynyrd box set over and over.  I used to listen to that so much that I can’t even listen to it all anymore.  But yeah, Demon Theory.  What’d I listen to then.  Trick with it was I wrote it on two computers – one home, one at work.  I’m pretty sure at work I was listening to Zappa’s Joe’s Garage all day on headphones, mostly just the first disc, which is still a new kind of magic.  At home, though, I think no music, as my computer then would lock up if I tried to listen to a CD and do anything else.  And my trusty jambox by that time had become the music supply for a bathroom way in the back of the house I was living in, so, yeah – no, no, I do remember now:  somehow I had some Bonnie Tyler.  On cassette, I think.  Yeah.  Bonnie Tyler whom I love.  She helped me with Demon Theory.  Her and Supertramp, which I had on permanent loan from a friend.  I just don’t remember the logistics of how.  And, man, that was some hard remembering.  I think my hair’s smoking.  I think if I tried to dig any deeper, I’d be coming up with all my many alien abduction experiences, which I’ve been trying to keep repressed until things were calmer and I could deal with them.

Dan Wickett:

Per your blog, it appears that you are working on another novel.  Anything you can share about it at this time?

Stephen Graham Jones:

Yeah. Ledfeather. Much much much more about it in that guest blog thing I’m doing here tomorrow or the next day.

Dan Wickett:

This past Halloween, you showed up for a book signing at the wrong bookstore wearing a Jason mask and carrying a big rubber knife.  Is this the strangest book signing incident you’ve endured?

Stephen Graham Jones:

Hm. No, probably not. The strangest—well, saddest—was down at BookPeople once, back in like 2000 or something. I was sitting up in the big room alone. It was the night after James Ellroy had been there, I think. Or somebody big. Elmer Kelton? Or can he not be alive anymore? Anyway, nobody knew me, knew about me, then at one point I heard the manager whispering into the PA for all employees in the breakroom to please go up to my room. It was the funniest, most terrible thing. But then at another BookPeople reading, with a lot more people—this was for ATBS, I think—this woman kind of wondered in, and had that look like she was maybe going to start shooting people, or throwing lit cats at them at least, but then she kept pressing me about vomiting in my fiction. I mean, ‘vomiting,’ and how I was using it in my fiction. Not throwing up in my books. Not that that’d be an insult, I suppose. But they were some hard questions to answer, and have made me real sensitive anymore to somebody about to hurl (with)in one of my stories. Let’s see, others, other . . . I know: one night I did a reading to probably two hundred and fifty or three hundred people. Great time, all that. Then the very next night I went to similar sized place and, bam, four people. Craziness. Oh, also, maybe this is the strangest: I was doing a reading at the B&N in my hometown, Midland—this has happened to me twice now, really—and looked up to see one of my great uncles walking through the store, way away from me, kind of eyeing me like Was I really who he thought I might be? Yep. Anyway, afterwards I ran him down in some aisle, and he was just off work that day, I think, because he’d been rattlesnake bit the day before on the foot, but then came back to work or something, finished his shift. But now his boss was making him go to the doctor, maybe. It’s all kind(s) of blurry. The other time something like that happened was here in Lubbock. I was at a podium reading, and this old relative (as in age-old, not that he’d been my relative for a long time) kind of staggered up right in the middle of everything and started talking to me, never realizing, I don’t think, what I was doing, or that the book in my hands was mine, any of that. I guess also, the most awkward reading experience might have been in New Orleans, at a bar, one set up pretty well for readings, like the Warehouse in Tallahassee, but I was one of like six readers or something, following this woman who had a really good following, so the house was packed. Only thing was, when she was finished with her piece, she leaned down to the microphone, let the silence kind of build up, and said, in just the right voice, that anybody who met her behind the building with a receipt for her book, she’d give them a blowjob. Then of course everybody followed her out. And, I mean, what could I offer after that, yeah?

Dan Wickett:

Is it true that you carry around pictures of ex-watermelons in your wallet?

Stephen Graham Jones:

Oh yeah. Suttree. No comment. That’s between me and them. And that paternity case has been taken care of.

Dan Wickett:

Lastly, if you were a character in “Fahrenheit 451,” what work(s) would you memorize for posterity?

Stephen Graham Jones:

VALIS, maybe. Or Love in the Time of Cholera. Catch-22. Deliverance, White Hotel, The Crying of Lot 49. The Magus. The Stand. Love Medicine. A Confederacy of Dunces. The Hitchhiker’s Guide to the Galaxy. The Wolfen. The Things They Carried and Coover’s Ghost Town and maybe even Gatsby. Lord of the Rings too, of course. And Riddley Walker. The Third Policeman. Lonesome Dove. Bastard out of Carolina. And the screenplays for Twelve Monkeys and Jacob’s Ladder and Lost Highway, and probably James Dickey’s “A Birth” too, and Mona Simpson’s short story “Lawns,” maybe Tobias Wolff’s “Hunters in the Snow” or “Liar.” This story “Wedgewood Blue” by John Vanderslice, I forget where it’s from. A transcript of the X-File’s “Jose Chung’s ‘From Outer Space.’” Strange Stories, Amazing Facts. The Frost Giant’s Daughter. Alexie’s “South by Southwest” story, and maybe “Sineaters” too. The Haunting of Hill House. Everything is Illuminated. The Wolf’s Hour. Jubal Sackett. The Dark Knight Returns. My head would blow up, yeah. Even more, I mean. But then that’d be a story too.

Dan Wickett:

Thanks again, Stephen, for taking the time out for this.

Stephen Graham Jones:

Nothing but fun.

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The user is neither tied to a wall socket nor a computer during use, which means the videophone can be moved from room to room without hassle, and without interrupting or dropping a call.

[truck rental]

Wow..Stephen Graham Jones is sure talented. He talks in such a funny way, looks so good, has a truck and lives with some deers on the walls - a man of my heart :)

[Discography Guy]

I really loved the Demon Theory, and this interview makes me want to try those other ones too... (: I just have to read the last three books of Stephen King's The Dark Tower first... For the third time!

[ugg boots]

hava a good time